We humans are the only story-telling animals. Why might this be so, and so what? At first glance, the answer might be that we tell stories and lower-level creatures do not because we are capable of using language and they are not. I think that the answer goes deeper than that.
We are much more complex than our fellow inhabitants of the planet. We need to tell and listen to stories because they contain the codes that can solve the mysteries and meaning of our existence, our lives. We have told and listened to stories since the dawn of time when pictures were carved on the wall of caves, to the religious tombs that told of the origin of our being, to the latest best selling, and not so best selling, novels and hit, as well as miss, movies. Factual information, useful as it may be in helping us solve practical problems, cannot guide us along a path to wisdom and happiness, a path that can only be unearthed as we come closer to making sense out of the thorny complications of our own nature.
A central characteristic of our humanity and a fundamental source of the complexity of the human condition is the variety of roles that we play and the way that these roles can conflict. A role is a package of values that defines and prescribes a mode of mind set and behavior. The role of “mother” for example inspires loving care and affection for an offspring. The role of “lover” pushes a person toward sensuous attraction, devotion and loyalty toward a fellow adult. It does not take too much imagination to understand that the role of “mother” can come into conflict with the role of “lover.”
Shakespeare”s plays are classics because they profoundly and artfully tell stories that reveal the twists and turns of human existence. Hamlet”s mother surely must have had some motherly feelings toward her son. At the same time, her complicity in the murder of his father and her marriage to his uncle was pushed by her desire to take on her brother-in-law as a lover. Hamlet, as well, suffered from the stress of role conflict, his role as a son to his mother tearing him in one direction and his role as the avenger of his father”s murder in another. Then, there is the story of poor Romeo and Juliet. Romeo”s role as Juliet”s lover came into severe conflict with his status as a son in a family that was feuding with the family of Juliet. She had the same pulls and hauls as a daughter to her parents and a lover to Romeo.
My own favorite modern story that unpacks the problem of role conflict as well any of the classics is the film Electric Horseman. In this story, Sonny Steele is the horseman. His past glory as a champion rodeo cowboy has faded. He has become an aging spokesman for a corporation. He hawks breakfast cereal at shopping center promotional events and high school football game halftime shows. He has commercialized himself, become a “product.” In conflict with his role as a corporate product is that of “cowboy.” This role is defined by a set of values that we see in the image of the mythical figure displayed on the screen in classic western movies. The cowboy role reveals the inner-self of Sonny, the characteristics that define what he is: A rugged individual, a man who loves the freedom of the outdoors, who dislikes actual as well as metaphoric fences, a man who is fenced in by his role as a corporate employee.
Rising Star is a magnificent stallion whose past glory on the racetrack has also faded. Sonny and the horse come together as fellow corporate employees. The washed-out cowboy is to ride the has-been drugged stallion in a glitzy Las Vegas review staged by the corporation to promote its product. Sonny sees that the horse has been pumped full of steroids and tranquilizers. He sees the wreck of what was the soul of the horse. He sees himself. In a masterful display of horsemanship and equine endurance Sonny and Rising Star unite to defect from their corporate masters with an amazing ride through a hotel casino, a wild chase by police cruisers through the streets of Las Vegas and a dash across rugged and desolate terrain. By the time Sonny and Rising Star reach a secret place populated by herds of wild horses; both the man and the stallion are ready to begin new lives. Rising Star is turned loose and is out from under the protection and control of man. Sonny no longer has the security of a steady job. Both horse and man are much closer to, more in harmony with, whatever is the essence of their being, the best part of themselves.
So, if role conflict is a deeply rooted human problem, what is the solution? For Hamlet and his mother, as well as for Romeo and Juliet the escape from role conflict was death. Let”s put that one aside. For Sonny the solution is to throw his saddle over his shoulder and walk down the lonesome road into an uncertain future. Few of us would choose that path.
The useful lesson of the Sonny Steele story is this. Before his encounter with Rising Star, his attempts to escape from the stress of role conflict and pain that he did not at all understand took the form of turning to a life booze and casual sex. Sonny had, in the words of his friend, “lost the best part of himself.” It was the realization that the horse”s natural role had been violated that caused Sonny to shine light on the battle that was taking place within his inner self, the battle between his genuine self and the false self of corporate lackey. This awakening enabled him to find the best part of himself, the part that had been lost.
We can, and we should, search for the best part of ourselves without waiting for the sort of wake up call experienced by Sonny as a result of his unplanned encounter with Rising Star. Finding the best part of ourselves is a lifetime project and although it does not guarantee a life of happiness and contentment it will help us to unravel the diverging pushes and pulls that can produce the distressing turbulence which makes us vulnerable to the stressful complications of our own humanity. Finding the best part of ourselves empowers us to make sense of the thorny complications of our own nature. Finding the best part of ourselves will help us to compose a more satisfying story of our own lives.
